


Favourite Things

by nuuboo (orphan_account)



Category: Naruto
Genre: Adoption
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-26
Updated: 2015-10-03
Packaged: 2018-04-23 10:08:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4872784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/nuuboo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A reflection of good things that spring from the darkest of days.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

When Iruka asked the class to list their top five favourite things as part of what Naruto considered a stupid, boring exercise to “build friendships” and “foster teamwork”, Naruto found that his list was a mere two points long:

1\. Miso ramen with extra pork from Ichiraku Ramen  
2\. Ultra special super-sized pork flavoured cup ramen

He didn’t understand what he felt when he saw his peers’ lists, or heard them talking among themselves about their favourite shoes and shirts and pets and books, except that he felt something far from happy. He didn’t understand what it meant that he didn’t have a favourite pair of shoes or a favourite shirt, because he only had one of each; he didn’t understand what it meant that he didn’t have a favourite book, because he didn’t have any. He didn’t understand what it meant to have nothing, only that nothing was all he had, and that he was supposed to live with it without complaint. 

At age six, Naruto couldn’t quite put a name to the twisting knot in his stomach, or to the uncontrollable urge to hide his paper from the peeking eyes of his neighbouring students. So he did it, folding it over, and kept it securely beneath his arms until Iruka came to take it away. When he did, Naruto felt like crying. He didn’t like the look on Iruka’s face when he read it—the way Iruka’s eyebrows bent and his mouth turned down made that knot in his stomach churn, and for a second, Naruto thought he’d throw up. But remembering that he hadn’t eaten breakfast, he thought to himself that there’d be nothing to vomit, anyway. So he didn’t. 

* * *

If Iruka had to pick, he’d say that Naruto’s most impressive skill was his ability to sleep soundly through absolutely anything. From the kitchen, Iruka heard Naruto’s alarm go off some five minutes ago, and the incessant ringing had irritated him enough for him to barge in, scowling, apron on and spatula in hand. 

“Wake up, Naruto!” he said, turning the silencing the irritable noise. “You’re going to be late, and I’m going to leave without you.”  


That was enough to make Naruto groan and scrunch his face into a chubby pout. Iruka would’ve found it cute had the effect not worn off some months back. Naruto forced himself out of bed, groggy and half-awake, and clung to Iruka’s pant in an effort to prevent himself from falling over. Walking to the Academy with Iruka was arguably the best part of his day, and he wouldn’t miss it—sleepy or no. 

“ _Naruto_ ,” said Iruka, who had been asking Naruto for the third time what toppings he wanted on his pancakes. Naruto mumbled something about strawberries, and Iruka began walking back to the stove quick enough that Naruto’s little feet had to jog to keep up.   


Naruto could smell scrambled eggs and miso soup, and what sleepiness remained left him. Breakfast had become his favourite meal from the day he began staying with Iruka; he’d never seen so many dishes laid out for breakfast—soup  _and_  eggs  _and_  pancakes, and  _oh_ , they were the  _softest_  pancakes he’d ever dreamed of—and when Iruka first told him to dig in, Naruto sat there and stared. When he thought about it, a lot of new things became favourites that he hadn’t thought possible before—like the smell of Iruka’s shampoo, and the way Iruka dried his hair for him when he showered, and the warmth of the thick, cozy blanket Iruka had bought specially for him—but Iruka’s cooking always took first place. Teuchi’s ramen was supreme, certainly, but Naruto had begun to discover the wonders of home-made omurice, of hearty hotpot, of warm stir-fry straight from the wok, and he thought that he couldn’t possibly have a  _real_  favourite food until he’d tried everything Iruka had to offer. He shoved the eggs into his mouth messily, and upon Iruka’s reminder to chew, then swallow, Naruto slowed obediently. Iruka’s smile was warm, like his blanket, like the air from the blow-dryer, like Iruka’s hands when he ruffled Naruto’s hair for no reason. 

“You’ll have to wear your blue shirt today,” Iruka was saying from the stove. “I haven’t gotten a chance to do the laundry. I know the white one’s your favourite, but—”  


“It’s not!” said Naruto quickly, looking at Iruka in the way children did when they were trying far too hard to get a message across with all the urgency in the world. “I like all of them. All my shirts.”   


Iruka looked surprised, but he didn’t have time to reply before he smelled the beginnings of a burnt pancake. 

* * *

The fifteen-minute walk to the Academy became twenty once Naruto joined him. It took Iruka three days of watching Naruto’s uneasy glances to Iruka’s hands (and then to his shoes, once Naruto found Iruka watching) to realize what he was after. Then, just as they began crossing a junction, Iruka held out his hand and said, _“Here, hold my hand. It’d be bad if you got lost in the morning crowd. We don’t want to be late.”_  Naruto didn’t let go until they got to the classroom, and Iruka didn’t say a word. 

Morning walks became something to look forward to. Iruka’s hands were warm and big, both of them—but there was a scar on his left thumb that Naruto found too fascinating, and so he remained to Iruka’s left whenever they walked. He never asked Iruka about it, but he’d come up with at least a dozen scenarios for how he’d gotten it, all of which included Iruka doing something incredibly heroic and unbelievably cool. 

The Hokage mountain loomed over them, and Naruto looked up at it as they walked. 

“Do you think I’ll be the next Hokage?” he asked, and Iruka would look up, too, as though trying to imagine Naruto’s little face on such a large expanse of rock.   


“If you work hard,” Iruka replied, “and trained well… I think you could. But, you know, being Hokage’s a lot of work.”   


“I know,” said Naruto, and that was the end of the conversation. Naruto would squeeze Iruka’s hand, and Iruka would smile fondly to himself in a way Naruto secretly liked to see. 

* * *

Naruto waited for the lunch hour more eagerly than any other student in the class. When the bell rang, he’d spring from his seat, grab his lunch box, and race to the single, old swing hanging from the large oak tree in the yard. There was only the one, and it was so far from the rest of the playground that he was almost completely isolated from his peers. He remembered sitting there day after day, with nothing but a milk box or a large apple to keep him company; the knot in his stomach was a familiar acquaintance, then, and as much as he willed it to go away, it returned time and time again like an unwanted pest. 

He swung himself a little and stared at the box on his lap and the handkerchief that wrapped it. He remembered picking it out himself, and the way Iruka looked a little skeptical.  _“Are you sure?”_ he asked, and Naruto  _insisted_  that the pug-patterned handkerchief was the best one on the shelf. Iruka smiled his fond smile that time, and Naruto felt warmer than he did when it was mid-summer and scorching out. He opened the lid and stared hard at the contents. Would he eat the eggs first, or the rice? He’d save the sausage for last, because that was always the best of it. Maybe he’d have the carrots first today, just for a change. 

The dull, repetitive thud of approaching footsteps stopped him mid-chew, and it was pure instinct alone that had him shield his lunch with his hands and tense his shoulders, still as death. It was only Iruka, who raised a questioning eyebrow, and Naruto relaxed. 

“You’re not playing with the others?” he asked, and Naruto was delighted to see him sit at the base of the tree beside him with his own lunch.   


Naruto resumed eating, swinging his legs in a slow rhythm as he thought back to four months ago, on an evening when dark clouds threatened to burst and ruin what small amount of good there’d been in his otherwise mediocre day. He recalled the creak of the rusted chains as he swung, and the strange taste of the milk he’d brought with him, and the way even the crickets seemed to stop chirping when he’d come near. He remembered seeing Iruka, and he remembered deciding not to wave. He remembered the knot in his stomach twist unpleasantly for a minute when Iruka began walking over, and he remembered thinking rapidly of every possible naughty deed he’d done over the past two weeks that’d warrant a one-on-one discussion after school. He could only think of the splattered fences near the farm out east and of the chalk-dust prank that had left Iruka with a sore bottom, but he’d done worse without this sort of repercussion, hadn’t he? 

_“Hey,”_  said Iruka then, and Naruto stared pointedly at the ground. Iruka watched him in silence, then knelt in front of him, stopping Naruto’s swing from moving.  _“You’re not busy now, are you? I wanted to talk with you about something, if that’s alright.”_

Naruto said nothing, and Iruka nodded as though he had.  _“You know, I was thinking that you… remind me of someone I used to know,”_  he said, starting what seemed to be a prepared speech.  _“Someone who was alone, like you. That person didn’t have anyone waiting for them at home—no-one who cared whether they ate well or slept enough.”_  Naruto scowled at the floor, and thought to tell Iruka that  _he_  wasn’t sad about any of that, and that _he_  didn’t mind it one bit, but Iruka was looking at him with an expression that made Naruto’s throat close too tight for words. Iruka bore his silence for another few seconds.  _“That person used to wonder whether they’d done something wrong, you know? Whether they’d done something bad to deserve being alone like they were, but they didn’t know for sure, and no matter who they asked, people would just… shake their heads. They suffered a lot because of it, but they had to be strong. They couldn’t let anyone see that side of them. They pulled the most ridiculous pranks… just for one small minute of attention. That’s all they wanted, really—someone to look at them.”_

Naruto had taken to keeping his mouth so shut that his jaw began to ache from its stiffness. He stared at the ground again, accusing the dirt and grass of crimes beyond their control. And Iruka continued:  _“I don’t want you to be alone anymore, Naruto. I know it’s hard, and I know you’re suffering. And I’m here to tell you that I don’t want you to hurt anymore.”_

What was the use in  _that?_  Petty words were petty words, sounds that disappeared the moment they were spoken, vanishing into the air as though they never existed at all. He didn’t need to hear this. He felt, somehow, like this was just another sad trick that adults played on unsuspecting children, as though there was a catch in it waiting to crush him into small, uncollectible bits. He felt angry, then, all at once; a wave of muddled emotion rose like a tsunami, ready to knock the wind out of his opponent on Naruto’s behalf. Naruto looked up, defiant, ready to tell Iruka that he didn’t want to hear any more of this  _stupid rubbish_ , when Iruka reached a hand out. Naruto recoiled, pushing the swing behind him. Iruka left it there, palm open, inviting. 

_“Would you like to stay with me?”_  he asked, and he looked so sincere, so pleading about it that Naruto couldn’t properly identify any potential trick or scam or prank.  _“My place isn’t very big, and you’ll have to sleep on a futon for a while, but… we could be a—family. The two of us. Together.”_  Iruka stumbled over the last word, and Naruto remembered thinking then that it was the first time he’d ever heard Iruka sound nervous in his life. For the first time, Iruka was more than the automated authority figure standing at the head of the classroom, as every classroom ought to have; he was  _human_ , and nervous, and stuttering over his words, and if Naruto had looked closer he’d see that Iruka’s hand was just a little clammier than normal.   


Family. Together. It sounded nice to him, and nicer still coming from Iruka in that quiet, gentle tone, with that sincere expression and patient smile.  Naruto knew that ‘family’ meant a mother and father and a pet dog or a cat, and maybe a little sibling, or maybe an older brother, but he never had any of those. And what of it? He’d be no good at taking care of a dog or a cat, anyway, and little siblings seemed more trouble than they were worth, and Iruka-sensei’s nagging reminded him of Shikamaru’s mother enough as it was.  _Family, together._  Family, with Iruka—the only person to ever remind him to go straight home, or to eat dinner on time, or to do his homework properly, or to shower every day and brush his hair in the morning, with his droopy eyes and pleasant smile and big, warm hands that smelled perpetually of chalk. Naruto clung to the thought, thinking rapidly of what it would mean to say yes, or to say no, or to say nothing at all. 

Iruka was silent still, and Naruto realized awkwardly that he was due to say something. But his throat was still tight and he couldn’t stop thinking of mothers and fathers and brothers and dogs, and it was all he could do to open his mouth and let go of his vice grip on the chain of the swing. His hand came away red and printed with the impression of the chain, and it throbbed as blood rushed back into circulation.  

_“I—I don’t want a dog,”_  he said suddenly, and his eyes watered, burning, until they spilled down his cheeks and he cried enough to make up for the years worth of anguish and sadness and pain he’d bottled up into his undersized little body.   


_“Okay,”_ said Iruka.  _“We won’t get one.”_  He held out his other arms, and both of them outstretched prompted Naruto to let himself plop heavily against him. He cried until his throat felt raw and dry, and until the sun began to set behind the ugly, thick rainclouds.   


“…Naruto?” said Iruka for the third time, and Naruto started from his thoughts. His sudden jerk dropped the carrot from his chopsticks, and it fell to the grass.   


“Um, what?” he replied, trying to rewind to their previous conversation. “Oh. No. I like this swing, 'ttebayo.” He aimed for the rolled egg, shoved it into his mouth, and sighed happily at the thought of two more of them left to eat.   


Iruka said nothing, and continued with his own lunch. Every so often, he’d look over to Naruto and smile that same, fond smile that Naruto had come to enjoy being the cause of. 

“Hey, uh, Iruka-sensei?” he asked suddenly, mouth half full of chewed egg. “Who was that person you were talkin’ about?” When Iruka looked puzzled, Naruto clarified. “When y’asked me to stay with you. Here.”   


“Oh,” said Iruka, looking very much as though he’d pieced together at least three different bits of a large and complicated puzzle. He looked up at the tree, where the rusted chains were hooked around the large, thick branch, and let his gaze drop back down to Naruto. “Me, of course.” 

* * *

Naruto stepped out of the bathroom, dressed in what were undeniably the most adorable pyjamas printed with an assortment of soothing marine life. 

“Did you brush your teeth?” Iruka asked from the couch, and Naruto replied proudly that he had. Iruka waited a moment, and then accepted the answer as the truth.   


His little feet padded quietly across the room, and he handed Iruka the blow-dryer expectantly. Iruka cleared the papers from his lap, patted the cushion between his legs, and waited patiently for Naruto to settle himself. This was their routine, and Naruto, upon overcoming his initial uneasiness about such affections, embraced it with both arms and then some. Iruka’s hands were gentle as they untangled Naruto’s messy hair, and the warmth of the air blowing on him made him sleepy. He tapped idly at Iruka’s knee, closing his eyes. 

“Dad?” he said, testing the word on his tongue for the seventeenth time since he began using it.   


“Yeah, buddy?” said Iruka, patiently smoothing Naruto’s hair from his forehead.   


“You’re my  _favourite_  person.” Naruto paused, thinking, and added: “In the world.” He thought to himself that he’d be able to tell Iruka a stout list of near twenty of his favourite things, should Iruka ever introduce that exercise again, and that when he did, he’d show it to his classmates with twice as much pride as they had in their shoes and books and shirts.   


“Oh?” Iruka replied, chuckling. “Well, how about that. You’re mine, too, Sunshine. Mine, too.”  


	2. yellow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Naruto and Iruka move into an apartment fit for two, and Naruto tries out his new room.

“It’s a little  _plain_ , but—”  


“It’s not!” Naruto looked at Iruka, wide-eyed, and shook his head twice; he grabbed onto Iruka’s shirt hem, desperate to convey his sincere happiness in a way both pitiable and heart-warming. “It’s  _not_  plain. I like it!”   


Iruka smiled and ruffled his hand through Naruto’s hair. The truth of the matter was that Naruto’s new room  _was_  plain—almost unacceptably so when considering it was meant to be a child’s room. But it was certainly better than the single futon Naruto had at Iruka’s old apartment; the window was large and clear and let in a healthy amount of sunlight enough to make this apartment a winner in Iruka’s short list of options. The move was a difficult one, what with rent being so high and his salary being designed to support the small studio apartment he had before, and Iruka was glad he’d had the sense to start saving from young. The new building was made entirely of two- and three-bedroom units, and seemed to be occupied solely by small families and young couples. If Naruto made a friend with one of the neighbour’s children, Iruka would consider it an extra success. 

“You don’t want to paint it?” Iruka asked. Naruto stared, dumbfounded, as though the thought of such a luxury never crossed his mind for a second. Iruka was reminded with a sudden, sharp pang of what little Naruto had before this, and of the fact that even the smallest acts of kindness shook his world to its core and challenged the village’s stigma about the boy who didn’t deserve love. 

* * *

They returned from the paint store with near a dozen colour palettes and three brochures filled with potential colour combinations that were, as the clerk said,  _perfect_  for little kids. Iruka caught the second of hesitation as the clerk glanced uneasily at Naruto, and felt Naruto’s grip on his hand tighten.  _‘Thank you,’_  Iruka had said in a tone clipped and icy enough to make the clerk step back. As they left the store, the customary  _‘please come again!’_  was nowhere to be heard. 

“Well?” Iruka asked, stepping back to view his handiwork. The swatches hung in a neat line across one wall, illuminated by the warm, mid-afternoon sun. “It says here to leave them up for a day to see how it looks at different times. What do you think?”   


Naruto hung back, staring at all the colours in poorly-hidden wonder. He couldn’t think of a time when he’d been given so many options save for Iruka’s initial shopping spree, where Naruto was able to pick for the first time exactly which pyjamas and shirts he wanted. Even four months later, it was still a change he hadn’t gotten used to. Choices were always made _for_  him, and made with little enough thought that even Naruto, at age six, picked up on the hostility he couldn’t name or understand. The grocer’s irritable expression was the worst of it, and Naruto wondered on many occasions whether it was bad of him to want to eat at all. 

Iruka was staring at him, and Naruto stared back. There was no hostility in Iruka’s kind eyes; his hands were large and comforting, warm atop his head, and Naruto had begun to list a plethora of things he liked about Iruka that set him apart from “the rest”: the soothing scent of his shampoo, the way he read him bedtime stories (Naruto was particularly delighted to find that this wasn’t just a myth described in movies and books), the way he made Naruto’s lunch box unbelievably exciting and full of all the edible goodness Naruto could possibly dream of. 

The unsettling churn in Naruto’s stomach had begun to disappear over the past few months, slow and continuous. Not all of it, certainly, and when it surfaced again he’d grab Iruka’s hand like a lifeline in a storm, squeezing until he felt that addictive drop of security worm its way inside of him and spread and spread and spread. The grocer could keep on glaring. Naruto simply didn’t look. 

“Yellow,” said Naruto, and Iruka raised an eyebrow in surprise.   


“Uh… yellow?” he repeated, and turned to look at the swatches again. He was only glad to see that it was a calm, muted shade of pastel yellow rather than something obscenely canary. “Are you sure, buddy?”  


“Yeah,” Naruto replied, walking up to Iruka. “It’s my favourite colour, ‘ttebayo!”  


“Oh? That’s good to know,” Iruka said, and his smile was contagious; Naruto smiled back, shyly patting his hands together, and Iruka took the cue to ruffle Naruto’s hair again. 

* * *

They sat on the floor, propped lazily against the rolled futon, with bowls of food and a jug of juice surrounding them. “The yellow  _does_  look pretty nice,” Iruka said. Naruto agreed, and three grains of rice fell from his mouth as he opened it. Iruka pulled them off his shirt and wiped the soy sauce from Naruto’s chin with a gentle swipe of his thumb. “Don’t talk with your mouth full,” he said, and Naruto replied only with obedient, close-mouthed chewing and big, blue eyes. 

He popped a piece of sausage into his mouth, expertly cut into the infamous octopus shape (and that was when Naruto thought his meals simply  _couldn’t_  get any better), and stared at the swatches on the wall again. He tried to imagine the whole room painted in that charming shade, with the bed Iruka bought just for him, and the small chest of drawers to hold his new clothes and socks and underwear, and the little desk they’d found at the second-hand store just big enough for Naruto to sit and do his homework at. Iruka had mentioned then that someday, he’d buy Naruto a better one, but that this one would do just fine until then. Naruto didn’t understand why Iruka seemed somehow saddened by the thought, or why he sighed when he looked at the small scratches on the side of the wood paneling; he thought to ask, but Iruka’s smile when Naruto hugged his leg had him forget all about it until now. Naruto looked over at Iruka, who had only just finished his dinner, and remained silent. 

“Something on your mind, Sunshine?” Iruka asked, and Naruto wondered if Iruka could read his thoughts like a magician. His admiration swelled, and Naruto wiggled his toes in a mix of childish wonder and equally childish apprehension.   


“…I like my desk,” he said at last, ducking his head shyly. 

Iruka was surprised by Naruto’s sharp observations; he was a fool to think that the child wouldn’t notice, he thought, and somberly remembered that Naruto had spent the brunt of his growing years until now soaking in the signs of unwelcoming attitudes and not-so-subtle disdain.   


“I’m glad,” Iruka replied sincerely. “I guess I just want to give you the best of everything.”  


Naruto though about that for a minute, processing it in the only way his young mind could. 

“But  _you’re_  the best, ‘ttebayo,” he said as though it was plainly obvious to anyone that wasn’t Iruka. “I just want to—t’stay with you.” A spark of uncertainty flared, and Naruto stared at his bowl as though it and everything else in the room would disappear; he held his breath, silently begging that the miraculous turn his life had taken would stay as it was, and shut his eyes. When he opened it again, he was still in his new room, still surrounded by warm, delicious dinner, and still being stared at by a startled Iruka. His shoulders sagged, relieved.   


“Of course you can,” Iruka said, still looking surprised at Naruto’s sudden earnestness. “Hey, didn’t I tell you? We’re family, and families stick together—always.” 

Naruto nodded. That familiar, unpleasant feeling began to recede, and he continued eating. He didn’t quite understand what Iruka meant with his response; maybe it was an adult thing, like taxes and budgeting and village  _pol-i-tics_ , but as far as he understood it, he already had it all: a warm blanket, hot meals, and a loving parent made up the bulk of the short list of things he ever truly longed for, and Iruka had given it all to him with no discernible shred of hidden hostility or secret bitterness. 

There was no room for him to wonder now whether it was bad of him to want to eat, or to have good clothes, or to have a comfortable bed to sleep on. Slowly, steadily, Naruto began to understand that his existence was more than a blight on the village—that here, now, with his new family in his new home, he  _belonged_. And that, to him, was the best of everything.


End file.
